


To Become a Ghost

by tarmetiel



Series: Ghostverse Vingettes [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Character Death, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Punisher au, Seriously though this is dark af, Timeline I dont know her, What is canon anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22348579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarmetiel/pseuds/tarmetiel
Summary: There was a line deeply ingrained in Dick Grayson. It’s been crossed only once before, when he was young and angry, and was rectified before the life was fully lost. Now, though? That line is far behind the horizon of his sky. That line is part of an old map that’s been redrawn to fit this new world.Now Gotham swims in bodies.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: Ghostverse Vingettes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855324
Comments: 25
Kudos: 162





	To Become a Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written for this fandom before, but I'm madly in love with JayDick so I thought I'd give it a shot!

It’s the work of a moment.

A bomb explodes. Shrapnel rips through flesh. Blood pours and pours to the cold, wet pavement. They’re human, after all. They bleed like everyone else.

Dick never saw him like anyone else.

Maybe if it hadn’t been during an Arkham breakout. Maybe if Nightwing hadn’t hauled him to a roof for safety. Maybe if fear hadn’t choked him, hadn’t gotten the best of him, hadn’t shown him the future.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The end result is Nightwing holding Red Hood’s cooling, bloody, unmoving body close when the Joker found them. And something inside Nightwing snapped. 

So he snapped the Joker’s neck.

He waits with the body of his lover. Holds him close. The inevitable storms out of the dark, black cloak swirling like clouds. Batman is stiff, surveying the scene.

One son holding another. Joker on the ground, his head resting in an unbelievable angle.

“Nightwing.”

“Take care of him, won’t you?” The sound emerging from Nightwing’s throat is cold, stony.

Gravel is rolling in Batman’s own throat. “I have...I have to take you in Nightwing.”

“No regrets, B.” He kisses Jason’s forehead. Untangles himself, almost in supplication. He stands, turns to Batman, and his eyes are terrifying. “Just retribution.”

He falls, arms spread wide like wings, over the edge. Batman rushes towards him, stepping over the broken body of a sworn enemy. Nightwing is hurtling down, grappling hook nowhere in site. It’s eons watching him plummet. But as Batman reaches for his own to follow him, to catch him, to save him, Nightwing shoots out his grappling hook and lands, rolling in the dirty alley. He looks up, rips off his mask. Throws it to the ground.

He runs.

* * *

It’s almost morning by the time Batman can check Nightwing’s primary safehouse. The costume is strewn on the floor. The earpiece crushed next to it.

All the weapons are gone.

Batman checks all the safe houses, one by one. No weapons are left. Laptops, data sticks, cash, all gone. All communication devices are crushed on the floor. 

Jason’s bunker has been stripped of the artillery and armor. Every knife, every gun, every bullet, gone. 

Batman hadn’t realized that Jason had kept the tire, hadn’t known how sentimental a place this bunker was for his second son. He pauses his frantic search, eyes locked on a photograph of Jason and Dick kissing on a rooftop. Next to it, a little black box. 

Batman breaks down.

* * *

It's five deaths and innumerable maimings later when Dick Grayson walks into a tea shop.

Alfred is a changed man - ancient and heartbroken. The words exchanged between the two are not sorrowful, nor begging. They are words of care, words of love, words of advice. Words of warning. Words of hope.

The visit lasts no more than one pot of tea, and Dick Grayson no longer exists past that.

There was a line deeply ingrained in him. It’s been crossed only once before, when he was young and angry, and was rectified before the life was fully lost. Now, though? That line is far behind the horizon of his sky. That line is part of an old map that’s been redrawn to fit this new world.

Now Gotham swims in bodies.

Gangs taken out by a maelstrom of bullets. Masked villains disappearing for weeks to turn up as bloated corpses in the harbor, or rotting bodies in the sewers, or, memorably, on the steps of city hall.

Two Face would’ve appreciated the irony, had he been alive.

He doesn’t name himself. Ghost of Gotham is a title foisted upon him like an unwanted coat, small and confining. Yet somehow ‘ghost’ is the only fitting term for him. 

Security cameras can’t catch him. Oracle can’t spot him. Batman can’t stop him.

His shots don’t miss. Knee caps and feet are hit first. Information is exchanged. For every question unanswered, a digit is removed. The perverse game of hangman continues until he is satisfied. He either leaves them, or apologizes with a shot to the head.

Let their death be quick.

* * *

There is an uproar in the hero community. Many try to interrupt one of his interviews, only guaranteeing an early death for the interviewee and a knife finding its way into the hero. He has no mercy for whoever presumes to bother him.

Superman is nicked with a kryptonite laced bullet while dodging the similarly treated knife.

No one reaches him. A tentative truce is held between Batman and Slade, an exchange of information only. The rooftop explodes under their feet before the pleasantries can be exchanged. Batman barely makes it off the roof.

Slade’s body is found the next day, throat pinned through with one of his swords. The other sword is left by his feet, covered in intestines and blood. His torso is roughly cut through, hips dangling by ligament threads. 

* * *

Robin is the one to find him.

He’s casually dangling his heels over the pit of an unfinished foundation, drying cement mere inches from his boots. There’s a large, half submerged body in front of him, bound by chains, pinned by steel piles driven through the shoulders like an insect to a board.

Black Mask was dead.

Dick was alive.

His face is covered in bruises, fresh forming over old. His nose is broken. Blood stains his skin and the brown leather jacket. It doesn’t show on his black combat pants.

“I didn’t think it would be you, Robin.” His voice croaks from one too many hits to his throat. “I was expecting Batman to swoop in.” He pauses. Swallows harshly, painfully. “Glad it was you, though.”

Robin is silent but swift. His arms are thrown around Dick’s in a moment. “I have missed you, Grayson.”

Dick hugs Robin tightly. “I’m so tired, Dami.”

“Come home, then.”

“Not yet. I gotta go.” And he releases Robin from his hold, wipes blood off his face.

“Batman will find you, Grayson.”

Dick stands, a hint of a smile emerging from the busted lips. “I’m counting on it.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

Red Robin gets a lung full of fear toxin when Dick reappears.

Dick is calmly walking through the mist of toxin in the air, respirator secured over his mouth and nose. In his hands matching curved, military grade daggers. He passes by Red Robin, his pace quickening. He throws himself on the Scarecrow, digging in both daggers into the villains neck.

It is quick, it is vicious, and it burns itself into Red Robin’s memory.

As the blood chokes Scarecrow, Dick slashes the daggers from his neck. He wipes them on the sack that covers Scarecrow’s face, then sheathes them. He jogs over to Red Robin, who starts screaming.

Dick quickly binds him and throws him over his shoulder. “Just remember to keep breathing, Double R. Keep breathing for me.” This mantra is repeated over and over until they’re out of the warehouse. 

Oracle is surprised to hear his voice over Red Robin’s comm link, but agrees to send someone to gather him. Dick severs the link before more can be said.

Tim, after recovering in the cave, finds a scrap of paper tucked in his utility belt, the short phrases of love and loss digging into him.

* * *

It’s the work of a moment.

A string of shots are fired. Bullets burst through badges. Blood pumps out through the metal pinned to blue. They’re human, after all. Even if they were dirty.

Dick always wanted to weed out the force.

Batman subdues him before more shots go off. Before more cops are killed. Before he can pull the trigger on himself. The carnage surrounding them seeps towards their feet. Badges with bullet holes decorate the floor of the precinct. 

“I was hoping you wouldn’t make it this time, B.” Dick gasped out. “So damn close.”

Batman’s silence spoke volumes.

He is stripped of his gear. He is thrown in handcuffs. He is carted off to Arkham Asylum, no judge, no jury, no trial. The evidence screams of his guilt, and his smiling confession is irrefutable.

The media is in a frenzy. The Ghost is captured, his reign is at an end. No one believes it’s him. Playboy and former cop turns to vigilante justice? Unbelievable.

Dick Grayson always shines too brightly to be a ghost, even if he shines red with fresh blood.

* * *

  
He sits, quietly, on his cot. His hands rest on his knees. His head is lowered, his eyes closed. Streaks of light filter across his face.

A loud clunk breaks the silence permeating his cell. The slot on the door is pushed open, and, for the first time in months, Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson make eye contact.

“I don’t regret it.”

Bruce says nothing. His eyes fill.

They stare at each other. Nothing can be said.

“You should leave, Bruce.”

And Bruce Wayne leaves. 

Dick moves slowly to the wall of his cell, the footsteps of his father ring in his ears. He waits until the echoes die. He pushes a brick. A series of clicks shatter through the air. 

A huge, deep, woosh vibrates through the building. 

Dick smiles. His work is done.

* * *

  
  
Bruce is driving away from his first son, his first Robin. Alfred hasn’t asked yet, hasn’t made his inquiry, but it’s only a matter of time. He will wait until Bruce can breathe again, until the sorrow stops choking him.

Arkham Asylum explodes in the rear view mirror.


End file.
